


this disease pumping through my veins

by wincestgoddess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Demon/Human Relationships, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Sam Winchester Detoxing From Demon Blood, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestgoddess/pseuds/wincestgoddess
Summary: An addiction often starts as a way to cope. Reasons to continue change over time.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	this disease pumping through my veins

Sam had grown up under a microscope.

It hadn’t always been there, and it hadn’t always paid attention but the few instances where it had been present, its sole study had been Sam.

Dean had been under a different kind of vigilance; one that spoke of responsibilities and learning to manage their money, one that had been ingrained in him since he was four years old. 

Sam had been different. Even from a young age, it had been plain to see that his principles were heading in a slightly different path. 

Too soft, too kind, his heart too big and too compassionate. 

That simply wouldn’t do. Not with their lifestyle. 

Dean’s hands had been calloused and rough when he’d been 8 years old.

Sam’s gentle hands liked making cards for his big brother at school. He liked using glitter.

Certainly, it had taken work but years of teaching right from wrong, had warped Sam’s perspective. 

A hunter’s life was one of no shades. No grey areas, no hues to look for. A hunter’s life was black and white. Right and wrong. Good and evil. 

Sam had been different from the start; but that sentiment had been one both John and Dean Winchester shared throughout his life, and there had been a time, a time where Sam had so desperately wanted to fit in.

So, he’d adapted. Black and white. Good and evil. 

It wasn’t until Gordon came along and with him Lenore that the armor he’d carefully built around his heart took the first dent. The knot tightly tied around his brain loosened. 

Black and white? This was a creature that radiated evilness, she was darkness personified. And she drank animal blood. She didn’t slice anyone’s throat. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted peace. 

He’d like to think that hunt helped Dean’s perspective shift a bit too, but the impact it had on Sam, had been something he couldn’t go back to. 

And so it began. 

Shades of grey started blending together. Hunts weren’t mere jobs to him anymore, they were moral conflicts now. Were they the rightful executioners of the monsters they were hunting? Did they truly deserve to die?

Sam truly understood then and there. They all had a backstory, they all had their reasons. Some didn’t really deserve to die. 

What started out black and white became a colorful kaleidoscope. 

No longer one or the other. 

That line of thinking followed the younger Winchester throughout the year of Dean’s deal. 

But lines then were blurring; the sense of wanting to understand would fall short when faced with the anguish of being so close to losing his brother, with the rage that grew inside of him every day. 

He needed to rid himself of that compassion; needed to be more stoic and cold. Needed to be a brand new Sam. 

Yet it lingered in his mind. The binds had been undone a long time ago.

It was exactly this form of thought, this knowledge of grey areas that resurfaced the first time he drank Ruby’s blood. 

Dean was gone and so was half of Sam’s heart. His brother had taken most of Sam’s essence with him. Some nights, Sam swore he could feel the burn Dean was most likely experiencing in Hell. He could feel the blade slicing into his soul. 

Sam tried to fix it. He’d gone to the crossroads, he tried to make a deal. Bargaining wasn’t in his mind, he didn’t even try. He wanted Dean back in exchange for his soul in Hell.

Every rejection cut deeper, every rejection hardened him. Every rejection was a lost shot. 

In some forms, Ruby had been an angel in disguise. The salvation his body had been waiting for.

Dean was  _ gone.  _ The pain of the hunts, the injuries Sam purposely took stopped being enough after a while. Physical pain for emotional tends to often bleed together, fusing until you’re left only feeling the ache of your soul again. 

Alcohol burned, made him forget at first. But the more he drank, the more memories tangled, the more he remembered and laying in bed, shards of glass littering the floor, in the dark of the night Sam would bare his neck for lips no longer there.

He avoided the tequila after that.

Demon blood? The mere thought was a stain on Dean’s memory. Ruby was a convincing snake, whispering into his ear all the sweet little lies he needed to hear, pressing her warm, vacant body against his own and slicing her wrist, offering the world to him. 

The first drop to land on his tongue had been the cure. His soul stopped wailing, his brain stopped protesting. No ache and no memories. Only  _ hunger.  _

It started out as a way to cope. 

The Dean shaped hole was slowly but surely filled up with blood. Ruby’s blood. Random demon’s blood. Any blood would do as long as the sulphur sizzled on his tongue. 

For four months, Sam used the blood as his coping mechanism.

Part of him wished it could’ve stayed that way. Maye it would’ve been easier to explain further down the road. 

But just like life for him was no longer black and white, his reasons for drinking too, changed over time. 

The bottom line was the same every time; the only thing that didn’t change: Sam was addicted.

The taste, the rush of power, the adrenaline. These were all side effects. Sam wasn’t seeking power, no matter what Ruby told him. No matter what anyone else would think.

Four months he’d been coping; and suddenly Dean was back. 

Sam felt trapped in a fog. He watched another version of himself hug his brother, drape the amulet around his neck once again, watched himself reach out only for Dean to step back.

His brother came back a changed man. 

Sam wished he could say that from that point on, he stopped seeing Ruby, he wished he could’ve quit. Gone cold turkey. Trap himself in a motel room for a few days and wait for the craving to pass.

Everywhere he turned, they all called to him. Demons in disguise, demons pretending to be humans and Sam could  _ smell  _ them all. Their blood pumping through their veins, it beckoned him closer. Resisting was useless. 

When Dean found out that Ruby was alive, it didn’t just stop there, he also found out Sam had been using his powers. The ones he’d asked him not to use. The death wish Sam hadn’t honored. 

Whilst the fight that followed severely bruised Sam’s heart, it was the disgust and the sheer disappointment dripping from his brother’s tone that did it. 

Not even the sweet taste of blood could erase that mark. 

Sam vowed to stop. Not for Dean (his heart rebelled against that, his heart would always chase Dean’s happiness, would force Sam to cut off his own limbs if it made his brother happy) but for himself because in the back of his mind, he knew he was falling.

He was closer each day, tiptoeing the edge, and Sam knew if he fell into the pit of darkness, the blood was an addiction he’d never force himself to let go

Despite Sam’s best efforts, Dean was still distant. He still asked for his own bed and had nightmares every night. He claimed he didn’t remember yet refused to look Sam in the eye.

It was a strained time. Monsters came and went and Sam was too exhausted to ponder their inevitable fates. Sam slid into the skin of the executioner John had taught him to be.

Dad would be proud.

As if his world view wasn’t already disfigured enough, angels made themselves known, extinguishing that final flame of hope. They weren’t fair, they didn’t care about humans. They didn’t care about  _ him. _

There was nothing greater protecting him. Ava’s words from years ago pounded into his skull.

‘I stopped fighting what I’m supposed to be’.

If angels didn’t care, if God wasn’t there, then who was Sam to deny his body what it needed? Demon blood was part of him. It was intricately built into his DNA. 

Dean’s attitude didn’t help. The barrier between them kept growing. Each of them were too stubborn to ask for help, to let their walls down, to let the other tend to the wounds they’d been carrying. 

Closer to a random angel now than to his rightful soulmate, Dean drifted away from Sam.

Heartbroken beyond repair, Sam focused on the anger instead. 

His whole life he’d been a ragdoll. His whole life yellow eyes had traced his path. He’d bled into his mouth and been chosen from the start. 

John had trained him as a kid; Dean, although playing a smaller role, had also had his fair share of control. 

Angels and demons; monsters and evil, every aspect of Sam’s life had been carefully managed. Had been controlled. College had been his escape.

Just a bump in Azazel’s plans.

From a coping mechanism, it turned to control. 

Drinking blood equaled Sam taking charge of his life, truly for the first time. 

He’d no longer be a puppet, be the good little soldier, be the perfect baby brother and the lover that Dean needed. Had needed. Not anymore.

Now he was Sam Winchester; the one taking the blade away from Ruby and slicing deeper than comfortable, drinking more than necessary and fucking her harder than she wanted. 

He was taking back the reins; all while steering down a darker path but by that point, Sam was too far gone to care. 

With each drop, the addiction only grew. It mounted in waves, it took over his whole body. Soon, he would need more than once a week. He could  _ feel  _ it. 

It should’ve scared him, and he believed there were glimpses of reality where a smaller version of him saw the light, when he saw the situation for what it was and he knew he was dooming himself. Most of the time Sam was trapped in a hazy comfortable fog though. 

Truly, if Sam acknowledged his addiction for what it was he would’ve fallen apart. 

Things around him were ever-changing, they were constantly disappointing, just when Sam thought he couldn’t reach a new low; there was something around the corner ready to prove him wrong.

Thus, the blood was control. It was his way of keeping his head above water. He couldn’t afford to sink; not with everything going on around them, not when he needed to kill Lilith.

Ruby didn’t fit into his plan, not in the way he wanted her to. She’d angrily spouted words about how she wasn’t his pet, how she wasn’t at his beck and call and he better get a damn grip on his drinking habits. 

She’d provided him a single flask filled with her blood. In case of emergencies, she’d said. 

Sam had to stop himself from drinking it down to the very last drop after she left. 

Somehow after Ruby’s last visit, things went downhill. Why wouldn’t they? Sam was a Winchester after all, and the only luck they had was bad luck. 

His already strained relationship with Dean took yet another beating when faced with the siren. That slimy son of a bitch drove another wedge between them, it turned them against one another and forced words out of Sam’s mouth. Forced him to face who the blood was transforming him into. 

Pamela was dragged back into the fight and she died for trying to help them. Sam’s guilt only intensified when she pulled him closer, when she told him what deep down Sam already knew but didn’t want to face.

Zachariah, Chuck and Jimmy, they all had their part to play as well, they all buzzed around him like flies and Sam  _ knew  _ their stories mattered. Knew that their role was a vital one.

And still all he could focus on was the blood.

It’s what led him to lose sight of Jimmy. 

Sam didn’t realize when; he wasn’t aware when his reasons once again shifted.

Control? His whole life up until this point had been an illusion and the blood wasn’t the way out. 

Dean wasn’t the way out, his brother was just or perhaps even more broken than him.

When did Sam keep drinking Ruby’s blood as a way to punish himself?

When did the power thrumming through his veins stopped feeling good and started feeling like a disease? 

When did every bathroom mirror of every motel they stopped at became shattered, the imprint of Sam’s fist left behind?

Mary’s death had been solely his fault. Azazel had targeted his family because of him. 

His birth had triggered a chain reaction Sam would bear the consequences of for years to come. But truly, it was Dean. It was John. It was everyone they put at risk in their lives. 

All of it; Sam was to blame for all of it. 

Drinking blood was simply the last step. It wasn’t longer filling up a hole that Dean had left. Now, it was only speeding up the inevitable process of completely turning Sam into the monster, into the freak he’d always been. 

Black and white?

Sweating buckets and detoxing in Bobby’s panic room, Sam snarled at John’s hallucination.

There had never been a chance for his life to be black and white. Good or evil. 

His life and now, his addiction, had been a myriad of shades and reasons. 

Dean was out there with Bobby, probably making his peace with the fact that Sam was dying. 

He could feel it, could feel himself growing weaker, each drop of sweat was a drop of blood he could no longer taste. The power in his veins was screaming at him to do something, to not let it die. 

In the end, he was miraculously given a way out.

Someone had managed to infiltrate the wards and had granted Sam his freedom, had freed his wrists from their restraints. 

And god, he’d wanted to. Part of him wanted to run away, to find Ruby and finish his mission. Kill Lilith and maybe, just maybe earn the forgiveness of the brother he’d lost.

Sam was  _ tired.  _ His very bones ached and though his dry lips desired the red poison, his legs wouldn't work with him. He couldn’t get up from the bed.

He didn’t realize he started crying, not until a stranger’s strong hands were cupping his cheeks and wiping the moisture away, concerned and panicked as eyes scanned him for injuries. 

The stranger turned out to be Dean. His eyes shone of worry and the veil of disgust had been lifted. 

Was this another hallucination?

“Dean...I need help,”

Three words were the first step an addict could take. The most important step Sam needed to take. 

Both men were broken but Sam had finally reached the end of his rope, and if he didn’t say it, if he didn’t express how truly broken he was, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to voice it down the line.

And it was true that outside forces had wormed their way in, they’d all collectively worked to drive them apart, to stain Sam and Dean’s relationship beyond repair. 

Yet, their bond was one that could not be undone so easily. No matter the betrayals, no matter the mixed emotions and the actions they’d both taken against one another, there was something so pure, so connected that had taken the blows and was still going strong.

It was exactly that love that made Dean strong, in a time where Sam couldn’t be. It was exactly that bond that had green eyes looking into hazel ones and promised without a word that he would take care of this. 

It was that tenderness suddenly sparked in Dean that led him to help Sam through the detox process. 

No more tying him up in bed, no longer leaving him alone at night to face his demons by himself. 

It was exactly the love rekindled between them that helped them both overcome Sam’s addiction together, helped them heal in their own ways. 

They were both still scarred, the year had still taken a huge toll on them but they realized that together, it was easier to bear the blows life kept throwing at them. 

The weeks that passed were focused on healing. The world outside was burning. Ruby was out of her mind trying to track Sam and angels were tearing into each other attempting to find Dean. 

Bobby was a silent support and ally this whole time.

And when Sam broke his last sweat and faced his final nightmare, when the last urge died down and was chased away by Dean’s lips and hands, that’s when they could finally face what was waiting for them out of the safety of each other’s arms.

Their last day at Bobby’s, the older man found Ruby’s flask.

He reminded Sam of its existence and placed it in his hand. 

At the edge of the bed, duffel bag ready at his feet, Sam looked thoughtfully at the item.

Dean soon came, packed and ready to go. He extended his hand and Sam took it with a smile.

He left the flask behind. 


End file.
